And What If I Were You

Chapter 1 - Part 7

Saturday, March 19, 2022

American Airways Flight 7212

LAX to Fiji

4.45pm. Somewhere over the North Pacific Ocean...

Louis rubs his socked feet together under the blanket, willing himself to sleep as his mind fights him to stay awake. Annoyingly, it's winning.

The transfer at LAX had been a right pain in the arse. The airport escort, Miriam, had been lovely and patient, reassuring Louis every step of the way, but it was all overwhelming and he'd been so stressed that he ended up breaking out in hives; yet another joyous side effect of his brain trying to deal with his new reality. It's not an allergy to anything like food or plants, merely a reaction to stress, and just for shits and giggles he can't take any medication for it, with antihistamines just exacerbating the issue instead of relieving it like they would if it was an actual allergy.

Under normal circumstances he would've employed his usual management strategies; a cold shower, laying down in a cool room, some paracetamol, and the meditation techniques he's been taught. Of course, most of that is completely impractical in the middle of one of the world's busiest airports, so he'd just taken a few pills and listened to some soothing music, moderating his breathing until his body and brain had chilled the fuck out.

He's been anxious for days, weeks even, which is perfectly understandable, but the further he gets away from England, the more unease he feels in his gut. As much as he's sure this is the right thing to do, it doesn't make it any less monumental.

This leg of his trip is a long one, nearly eleven hours, and he rolls over onto his side in his business class pod, sinking further into the mattress topper and pulling the blanket up over his shoulder. Delhia, the flight attendant that has been looking after him, had made up his bed about an hour ago, but sleep is still alluding him.

His mind is racing, turning everything over and over like a washing machine set on an endless spin cycle. He's gone over his lists in his head, dutifully checking off each item for the hundredth time. He's listened to his confirmation emails from the retreat explaining the process for arrival and what he can expect from the first day. But despite his best efforts to distract himself, his brain has moved into a deeper and darker space, questioning his reasoning for this entire adventure and worse still, delving into 'what if' territory.

He wonders if he would've done anything differently if the universe had tapped him on the shoulder the night before and told him what was about to happen. A cosmic heads-up, as it were, not a warning to enable him to prevent it, but a chance to have one final night with the knowledge that it would be his last as a fully-sighted person.

He's thought about that evening a lot over the last nine months, the entire night readily available in his memory like scenes from a movie to replay in high definition, over and over again with painfully crystal-clear clarity.

It wasn't even anything special. There was no event or activity or conversation or fight. There's nothing to regret or wish he could take back, nothing to mark the evening and make it stick in his mind, and yet it does. It'd been just a normal night at home, alone with Giselle and a take out curry while Harry was filming late. He'd gotten home and snuck into bed, backing up against Louis' chest like he always did, moulding himself to Louis' body in that way that never ceased to make Louis feel like he had a purpose. Like he was contributing to the relationship even when he felt so detached from Harry's world.

It had taken a while for Louis to come to terms with dating Harry Styles. In the early days, when it was just them holed up at Harry's country house or on dates with just the two of them, things had seemed easy, normal, like they were just two regular people falling in love.